The Pilgrimage
by Danko Kaji
Summary: One day, the world will be a safer place, and they can live happily ever after. Yuna/Baralai vignettes, gift-ficlet for Sorrow has a Human Heart. Important note: Chapter 26 has a lemon.
1. Fortune

I'll be posting daily, if I can. Maybe even more than one. :) But it shouldn't be a problem since these are super short. Moments written in its essence~

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I.

**Fortune**

_{The best has yet to come, there's still eternity}_

Small circles stroke his hands, performing a pseudo palm reading, discovering superficial scars, an array of white lines, and invisible calluses. His past is a painful and happy one, his present full of potential and hope, proceeding without stop to a promising future– this is what Yuna sees.

Her ministrations make him smile, his thoughts a little remorseful, as he humors his lady's curious and inquiring stare.

"Well, I wasn't always a bookworm."


	2. Ire

Kinda wordy, but I like it. I always wondered why Baralai knew dark magic, but doesn't use elementals. I guess it must've been a personal thing. :p

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**II.**

**Ire**

_{He vows never to breathe fire again}_

Awed by his mother's performance, her harmless rendition of fire magic, Baralai witnesses a bush ignite, flames glowing orange and wild in the wind like plasma wings. Weeks fly by until he acknowledges the precious china splitting at the cracks, breaking from the lethal hot pressure, the bright colors and pretty pictures charred and crumbling into ash, and he resists the urge to cry when his father spanks him for throwing a tantrum. Many months later, he sulks for wanting to sate his curiosity, watching a tree serve as its own burning stake, dying for simply being chosen a target of abuse.

Years have come and gone, and Baralai witnesses a fiend fall victim to the spell, a Wasp rasping in pain, gasping, plummeting, dispersing in millions of ghost particles, or a Murussu, arms wide and bulky, skin thick and tough to pierce. Its barriers are useless as the flames lick at its meek body, sapping its strength, draining its life, having slipped through the minuscule gaps. It slumps without a sound, pyre flies highlighting its death, soon disappearing before his very eyes, solemn and sorrowful–

In time, his temper becomes too calm to cast fire, proof of the destructive energy fizzling from his fingertips.


	3. Burden

I adore the parallelism between Baralai and Yuna, and I will be writing several vignettes to emphasize that. :)

_outo-sama = _father, master suffix

_sensei_ = teacher

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**III.**

**Burden**

_{We are so young, our lives have just begun}_

Baralai's _outo-sama_ offers a staff, a family heirloom, the razor rod, his first weapon, as a heartfelt gift.

The staff feels heavy, dangerous, the weight too much for a child to bear, but he doesn't dare complain and be ungrateful. Already does he not pay attention, he is not careful where his fingers hold, and blood oozes from the fresh cuts.

"Father, why are my hands red?"

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Yuna's _sensei_ proffers a staff, the head a golden flower crown, the lacquer a polished sapphire, as an act of charity.

Smile strained, but honest, she struggles to hug the long, cold, and hard scepter to her bosom. The twin bells attached on the end, they jingle in her trembling grip. Her cursed eyes are timid, unsure of what to expect for herself.

"Auntie, does this make me a Summoner?"


	4. Prayer

Yuna realizing her affinity for white magic in a nerve-wracking situation. Isn't it best to awaken the talent early when under stress? :p Oh, and Auntie, along with Baralai's father 'Mori' and mother 'Etoinette' are my OCs. :3

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IV.

**Prayer**

_{Help is on the way, do not lose faith}_

The fisherman is losing blood faster than Yuna believed possible, eyelids fluttering, cataracts forming, breaths falling shorter and faster and quieter– Yuna shakes him, shoves his chest, punches his shoulder, slaps his arm, _anything_ to keep him awake long enough for Auntie to arrive.

Tears pool in her mismatched eyes, deluging the grisly artwork of wounds dealt by hungry piranhas, granting clarity in an otherwise gory, flesh-torn, bone-bitten nightmare. She latches onto his mutilated torso, clutching his shredded shirt, squeezing her eyelids shut, hoping with all her might for him to _live_. Cries rip through her lips, sobs shuddering her lungs, as her body trembles in heartbreak.

_Wait a little longer, you have to survive, you can't make everyone sad... Fayth, I don't care how, please, oh please let him live..._

Warmth suddenly radiates somewhere beneath her, originating from her ruddy fingertips, leaving behind a chill in her spine, cold exhaustion; panicking voices are hushed, silenced by wonder, and white light blinds every corner of the darkness.

"It's a miracle..."


	5. Energy

Maybe I'm twisted, but I like to portray dark magic in innocent ways. :3 And I never considered Baralai a Samurai or Dark Knight, what an intriguing combination, Sorrow. I pictured him a ninja, if Rikku ever snagged Baralai to dress him up as a Gullwing. XD

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**V.**

**Energy**

_{The sun will set for you, life cannot last forever}_

Baralai frolics in the Calm Lands, pausing for a heartbeat to see his parents not too far behind, all giggles and grins. He soon collapses after many leapfrogs, and dizzy spins, and prowling in the wild grass, completely spent and happy. Nestling in the warm, dry soil, he closes his eyes and can sense _life_– the mysterious radiance of the earth, the insects' frisky crawls, and the grass's lazy sway in the mute breeze.

He lies there, motionless, yearning to borrow this energy and play some more. '_If only I can touch it, feed off it, swallow it up, and keep it for myself, I can play forever..._'

These childish thoughts cause him to be giddy and restless and greedy for more fun, and feels his energy returning, gradually, faster than usual, in no time at all. Lifting himself on his knees, Baralai stares at his hands, clenching and unclenching them, enraptured by the replenished strength, disregarding this dreary scene.

The grass beneath him has completely wilted, fertile soil stale and ashen, insects now limp and curled unto themselves, forever frozen. Departing memories are freed, rescued by death, and soul remnants illuminate young and ignorant eyes.

"...what have you done?"


	6. Absolution

The young, naive view on love, and the billion-gil question. :3 _What is love? Baby, don't hurt me, don't hurt me, no more_~ XD That's Haddaway for you.

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VI.

**Absolution**

_{Dream, oh lonesome ones, of your lost soulmate}_

Yuna keeps on hearing bad things about her mother, _that shameless gypsy, seducing the High Summoner, she deserved what she got coming, dying at the mercy of Sin_– cannot take it anymore, will not hear of it. She goes to her new friend, the young Ronso, seeking answers. The humanoid lion, standing tall, despite the broken horn, arms folded, long tail swishing, gold feline eyes scrutinizing–

"Kimahri. Did father hate mother? She is an Al Bhed, and people hate Al Bhed, don't they? I don't understand..."

"If Braska not love Al Bhed woman, Yuna not have life."

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Love is not a foreign concept to Baralai, far from it; he is raised with love, tough love especially, but not this kind of love. He sees this all the time, when his parents think he's not looking, where his father is soft and his mother is passive, where brute force and pure magic is not necessary, does not exist in their little world, all their defenses stripped bare–

Baralai does not understand this intimate vulnerability, feels somewhat shameful, and envious, too–

_Why can't I make mother just as happy or father just as safe?_


	7. Strife

Seven, strife, final fantasy, coincidence? :p I think _so_! XD Didn't realize until I typed it. Another parallelism! :D This one is my favorite as of yet.

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VII.

**Strife**

_{Right foot, then left, raise your hands into the sky}_

Baralai trains in the dark, the moon missing from the sky. He cannot see the ground, the landing of his feet, or what he's supposed to hit. It is infuriating– his harsh breathing and heavy heart pounding eclipses all other noises. Days pass fighting blind, tripping, stumbling, receiving bruises, memorizing lofty foot holdings and muddy depressions– all the while, his father supervises his progress, arms crossed, back straight, smile proud.

A little more, Baralai chants within his heart, these weak thrusts, aimless strikes, and slow swings will become strength proven true.

_A little more, and I can protect everyone I love._

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Her legs tire, and very soon she stops. Her bare feet are caked in dirt and bristles and sharp pebbles, preferring this over the soft, searing sands of the beach. Yuna once again picks up her staff after she is done relaxing, extending her arms out, breathing deep, falling back into position, and repeats the taught steps. Auntie is patient, tapping her foot, black eyes sharp as a hawk, white smoke coiling and rising from her lit tobacco pipe.

Someday, Yuna prays with all her might, these awkward strokes, clumsy swoops, and silly twirls will become elegance made reality.

_Someday, my dancing will make people happy._


	8. People

Yay, and another! :D I'm on a roll! X3 This one is my second fav, by far, but more will definitely come by the end of the day.

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**VIII.**

**People**

_{All the right moves, and all the wrong faces}_

Baralai travels to Bevelle alone for the first time, since he is old enough, to the marketplace while going through the grocery list again in his mind. Living in isolation, away from civilization, the prejudice, and stupid stereotypes can make you kinder to strangers–

He greets passerby with quick smiles and brief hellos, taking care to look over his shoulder when turning a corner or crossing the street or weaving through a particularly dense crowd, feigning curiosity.

–and more suspicious, too.

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Yuna skips with elation on each bounce, and thinks on her way to the temple, _everyone is so nice_, forgetting how to act proper and lady-like for once. Living in isolation, away from the majority, their inborn hatred, and racial discrimination does not make you immune–

She treats villagers with polite words and caring eyes, unaware of them avoiding eye contact, or how strained their smiles are, less strained than before, or the indifference in their tones, yet they are tolerant.

–neither are you exposed to it.**  
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	9. Dawn

This may be my most foreboding one, yet. :p Baralai's take on the betrayal, and Yuna's aftermath of Operation Mi'ihen. Not very pretty, contrary to the articulate use of words, and also very sad.

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**IX. **

**Dawn**

_{The day before tomorrow, the day after yesterday, the sun will rise}_

Baralai awakens alone in a room that is not his own, within a secure cacoon of thin blankets, eyes crusted and squinting. The orange rays of the morning sun spills through the open window, granting the disoriented teenager warmth from the cold depths of his bewilderment. His drowsy brown eyes bulge at the violent pangs erupting in his backside.

Memories with incredible clarity explode inside his mind, forcing him to remember the events leading up to this very moment, this delusional realization– _my friends betrayed me. _

A heartrending scream penetrated the silent and peaceful morning, shaking the very foundations of the planet.

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Yuna stirs at the snippets of quiet conversation, rolling over and sitting upright, clothes wrinkled and rustling. Voices are no longer hushed when an exuberant "Morning!" is given; yawning in an undignified manner, the young lady blinks, dubious, groggy blue-green eyes widening in panic. She rushes to and fro, apologizing profusely, packing the minimum of belongings.

With unkempt hair plastered to her, Yuna falls victim to her company's laughter once outside Djose Temple, initially disgruntled for being picked on, but understands, and glances at Tidus– _the only one really laughing... is you._

She was working until dawn– healing the wounded, sending the fallen– closing another chapter of her quest._  
_


	10. Guardian

This one stars Kimahri, and his vast influence on Yuna's childhood. :D You know, the part where she goes to Besaid, but you had to wonder how long and difficult it was to finish the journey. :3

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**X. **

**Guardian**

_{A man's will can move mountains}_

Orphaned at the tender age of seven, Yuna's tiny fingers are curled inside a strong, protective grip. Together with Kimahri, her only lifeline, they depart from the holy city, Bevelle, where Yuna waves goodbye at the retreating Highbridge.

Traveling south of the continent, treading the crystal woods of Macalania, braving the plains of perpetual thunder, they pause to make a quick visit to the Farplane Glen, to pay their respects to High Summoner Braska, her father. Watching a cluster of pyre flies gather to create familiar silhouettes, she thinks with tears streaming in solemn silence, _he looks happy beside mother..._, unaware of the pyre flies mimicking her last memory of them, separate memories, of either parent smiling at her.

They soon exit Guadosalam, traversing the dusk-lit, bandit-ridden paths of the Moonflow, riding a shoopuf to cross the riverbank, its deep waters obscuring machina fossils that once belonged to a prestigious machina city. "City too heavy. Crushed bridge. Disappeared in water. Karma attacked people. Punishment for using machina," is Kimahri's fragmented answer, and since then Yuna learned to stifle selfish desires, so Sin wouldn't find a bad reason to punish her for being a good girl.

Skipping Djose Temple, Ixion's marker, they walk the road famous for its mushroom rock formations, the long stretch of crooked cliffs and lush green, Lord Mi'ihen's Highroad, until arriving at the mother of sports and festivities, Luca. Boarding a ship to traverse the dangerous seas, passing the ruins of Kilika, the island of Ifrit and its fiend-infested forests, all the while wary of Sin prowling in the vast waters– they reach Besaid at last, a backwater island littered with obsolete machina.

Kimahri and Yuna steps foot, hand-in-hand, on their new home.


	11. Solitude

This, Sorrow, is a little piece of fanfic for your fanfiction. :D Chap. 10, specifically, and as you will see, I borrowed one my favorite lines from your work. Hope you enjoy it.

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**XI.**

**Solitude**

_{Heartbeat, a heartbeat, I need a heartbeat}_

Suspended in this one moment, tears cascading, ceaseless, fireplace blazing, peaceful, her sniffling, noisy, his breathing, calm– she isn't aware why she came in the first place, back to Bevelle, her birth home, returning to a place that had mistreated her, accused her, branded her an outlaw all those years ago. Another lifetime. A life full of Sin. A life where Yuna met Tidus.

_This life ain't worth living... without him..._

But there are people who still care about her, who wish for her happiness, yet what is stopping her? _Myself_.

It's no longer about want anymore, it's need– need for a friend, a confidant, someone alive and awake, whose strong arms cradle her in his embrace, squeezing her in this solid warmth, this comforting presence of a man who exists, intoxicated by this unique scent, an oddly harmonious mixture of the temple's incense and his own cologne. She can't escape it; hunted by the cupid's arrow, Yuna is desparate, clinging on to illusory remnants of _him_, until her hapless hopes are slain by a golden stream of light.

Yuna came to Baralai in pieces, so he could make her whole.


	12. Warrior

Between Yuna and Baralai, I love writing vignettes of B'man more. :3 It's not obsession, but more like a profound fascination with his character. My depiction of Baralai here is raw, bold, and 'Herculean'. :p

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**XII.**

**Warrior**

_{What doesn't kill you can make you stronger}_

A curvet, followed by a vicious thrust of his staff, dual-edged and sharp and shining in the sun's glare. He focuses on his imaginary foe, aiming for its vitals, always swinging for the jugular, a clean death every time. Pivot after pivot, elbow jabs and fast feints, his heels barely touch the ground as he spars with his internal adversary, Stamina. The keen edge whistles while the blade slices air, twirling his staff high, his arms Herculean rotors, kinesthesia disengaging a unique component, the twin rings unfurling to use sharp steel, raising a storm of glittering dust and volatile leaves and crystal slivers, the mini typhoon billowing the layers of his priest garb– a war-angel in the flesh.

He is eighteen, growing up, and ready to set out for the world.


	13. Chance

Super sorry for the lack of updates. Ack. Life caught up to me. XP Got another one of Baralai and Yuna together, with some highlights of Wakka and Lulu. :p Don't know why the two got together, though, but I don't resent it. I guess not all couples have to be epic; they can be just as unpredictable.

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**XIII.**

**Chance**

_{Oh my God, I never thought he'd disappear}_

Yuna asks years later, when time has passed for Lulu to lose Chappu, for Tidus to arrive in Spira, for Sin to be gone for good, for Tidus to complete the dream and disappear, for Wakka to eventually propose, for Lulu to make up her mind and say yes, for the two to expect and finally conceive a baby, their "future", Vidina, for Yuna to save the world twice–

"How did you learn to move on without Chappu?"

"Not without." The new mother smiles, a rare and sad one, tapping her forehead with a sharp fingernail. "He chose a different life, that's all. And so did I. We are not without each other, in memory."

Yuna's eyes automatically stray to her significant other, who is bonding with Wakka while trapped in a noogie a little too violent to be considered friendly. It's a stretch to say Wakka hates Baralai's guts, but she wouldn't have him any other way.


	14. Gaze

The insightful thoughts of two surprisingly emotional characters, Nooj and Aniki, regarding the friends they feel strongly for. ;) Yuna's half, eh, not how I expected to depict it, but then again, Aniki is a complex character for me to sympathize with. XD Oh, and in the end, Aniki confesses his love. Aww... :3

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**XIV.**

**Gaze**

_{We always want what we can't have}_

"I believed in you once– when we were training for the Crimson Squad, I thought I'd never find a better friend. But you betrayed that... two years ago."

Seeing his back, so open and distant, shoulders no longer thin, but broad, his posture no longer lax, but stiff and diginified– it harshly occurs to Nooj that Baralai isn't a child anymore. Betrayal can change a person, made Baralai become the young man he is today, Praetor of New Yevon.

_"Why did you shoot?"_

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"These past two years, Yuna has always been looking ahead into the distance. Always her back is to me. I like this Yuna more than the Yuna that is facing me."

Picturing her backside, so close and straight, shoulders sometimes slumped, as if disappointed, her posture sometimes rigid with responsibility– it comes to Aniki's attention Yuna is a blossoming woman. Freedom can liberate a soul, urged Yuna to abandon the role Spira doesn't need anymore, High Summoner of the Eternal Calm.

_"E muja ran."_


	15. Boredom

Uh... this chapter was inspired by boredom, ironically. XD Sometimes the 'awakening' of one's powers is not epic or dynamic. It can just happen spontaneously, and with no significant meaning except because it's _there_. :p

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**XV.**

**Boredom**

_{the trigger of insane motivation to do anything}_

Baralai is bored one day, bored after completing his chores, bored of reading books, bored of exploring the woods, bored of fighting fiends, bored of doing nothing– he spots a stuffed animal, ratty, worn, and missing a button for an eye, sitting alone at his desk.

Amusing himself with silly delusions, he sees his childhood toy talk, dance, laugh, cry, jump, dive, _fly_– and Baralai gasps in astonishment when it does. Floating, suspended in midair, due to the power of his will and latent magic. His thoughts serve as invisible conduits, clinging to the object, manipulating the doll in whichever fashion he so wished. Baralai witnesses his doll debut as a daredevil, ascending, descending, performing back-flips and somersaults, colliding into the ceiling, bounding off the walls, skirting to and fro across furniture; a variety of creative tricks invented by a bored teen with a lot of time on his hands.

Startled by his father's presence, his footfalls stealthy, his stare indifferent and curious, Baralai loses his concentration, causing the doll to plummet and hug the ground, a lifeless object once more. With a sheepish smile and a slight shrug, Baralai says, "I was bored."


	16. Gypsy

Oh, yeah! X3 Always wanted to write this piece. It's been stuck in my head for months. :D "What if... Baralai was actually there? How did he feel, seeing Yuna up there? Hmm~" I love this one a lot. :3

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**XVI.**

**Gypsy**

_{Never fall for the pretty face, love tastes like wine}_

Cloaked in street clothes, priest robes discarded for the sake of blending in amongst the inebriated youth and crazed fans, Baralai enters the Stadium after admitting his ticket, a baggy hood camouflaging the iconic face of New Yevon.

The open roof is now enclosed to preserve darkness, neon lights flashing, joyous shrieks resounding, and what used to be the sphere pool for Blitzball has become a temporary stage. The statue of a modernized plump priest beholding a drum set balances an azure plate on top of its golden, bald head, a gluttonous grin mocking Baralai from where he approaches. Weaving through masses of people, pushing pass them with gentle nudges and polite taps, he finally reaches the front row, hands gripping the iron railing, eyes riveted on the woman swathed in limelight. Solemn stillness forsaken in motion, special effects, and modern music– the High Summoner is pursuing pop stardom now? A rather scandalous new lease on life, too out-of-character for someone so humble.

Male back-up dancers teleport on site, miming the young woman's rehearsed dance steps. Guitarists and bass players revolve around the spectacle on top machina jet platforms, creating the lyrical craft of pure electrical noise.

_"It's real emotion, shakin' up the world, I'll never give it up, I don't ever want to, Lose this far, No more than I can do, When I am just too wrong, And in my heart I can hear you say, That I am not alone~."_

Insolent smiles, sultry sways of the hips, hand signs spelling seduction, lyrics lusting for fame and a lover–_This is not Yuna. It has to be an impostor. _There's nothing admirable about her provocative, voluptuous movements, nothing curious about her personality's vulgar makeover, nothing impressive about her controversial change.

_"What can I do for you? What can I do for you? What can I do for you? I can hear you..."_

Two party crashers desecrate the songstress's stage without warning, ruining the performance, this unimaginable and captivating foul play, much to the consternation of the audience, discontent and excitement exploding in riots. Baralai stands at the sidelines, unable to do anything, unwillingly passive as the cat-fight commences between three notorious girls.

_This shouldn't be any of my concern, but I hope Paine knocks some sense into Lady Yuna._


	17. Soul

Sweet! :D Finally! I updated! XD _Now We Are Free _by Hans Zimmer and Lisa Gerrard inspired me beyond words and expression. I'm in love with that song! X3 And so gave birth to this wondrous piece of literary art. *_* Baralai's awesome when performing the Sending. ;P

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**XVII.**

**Soul**

_{We are free now, dance for the rain to fall}_

Corpses are lined up on the sand in direction of the empyrean, faces pallid, eyes glazed, hands clasped on their bosoms. Real Summoners are fortnights away and Baralai acts as the stand-in, being an acolyte sufficient for the ritual. Casual clothes and comfort forsaken in preference to the occasion on this blistering hot dusk; a regal, green vestment synonymous of Yevon religion.

Maester Kinoc, plump stature straight true to protocol, gives Baralai a single nod. Solemn sepia eyes avert to the horizon, soon closed shut in a moment of prayer, prompting the entire company of the Crimson Squad to follow his example. Proud warrior monks reserved in sorrow, brash trainees silent in anguish, they stand dutifully, split into two rows. Baralai wishes, no, _wills_ peace and happiness for the soon-to-be departed souls, the soldiers he fought alongside and against and even grew acquainted with. Lives lost in a fiend ambush, over two-to-three dozen overwhelmed by a small horde of Sand Worms.

Razor rod rising, twin rings winking in the sunset, Baralai stretches his arms to the sky. One step in and he lunges, sweeping the sand, spinning in a half-circle, steel gliding above his head in sharp tears. Curvet after curvet, terse twirls, deep side-steps, a rolling, horizontal descent of his staff, and he lays it flat on the grainy ground. Hips sway without losing a beat, conducting pivots for momentum to flow ceaseless, shoulders shrugging and arms pumping as hands pound on imaginary drums. Onslaught of rushing colors blur his sight, stray stone particles stinging his eyes, sweat sticking to his thick robes as seconds drag their feet and become minutes.

Pyre flies trickle forth from their respective bodies at one point, revolving around and dancing to the whims of this earnest youth. Cloy in ascent, soft in sentiment, the ghostly insects are a sight for sore eyes. Baralai's voice breaks free from its mute confinement, a wordless hymn resounding in his throat, lips parted to sing exalted notes of a cryptic requiem.

_Ieyui ~Pray~ Nobomenu ~Savior~ Renmiri ~Dream~ Yojuyogo ~Child of Prayer~ Hasatekanae ~Forever and ever~ Kutamae ~Bring us peace~_

Gippal weeps, he weeps more than everyone, this Sending the first he has ever laid one eye on. His open show of grief puts Paine to shame as she stifles her tearful indifference behind trembling hands, and Nooj whose lone tear outshines the North star.

Souls are in need of rest, guidance, an eternity of dreaming. Loved ones are in want of peace, reassurance, a lifetime of healing.

Baralai has the power to give, and so he delivers with all his soul.


	18. Choir

I haven't been giving Yuna enough credit. :p And yet I feel the Aeons demand the spotlight more than she does. XD

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**XVIII.**

**Choir**

_{You listen and wait for it; an echo of angels that won't return}_

The Fahrenheit is the Summoner's airborne stage, the starlit dusk her mural of mourning, as the whole world projects their voices together as one absolute symphony. The Fayth, her Aeons, perform a gracious, grievous musical. Yuna's Final Sending.

Daemon of the Heavens. Mad Dog of Hellfire. Mecha-Unicorn of Electricity. Maiden of Ice and Destruction. King of Dragons. Monarch of the Underworld. Nocturne Samurai. Beloved Triplets of Mother Nature.

The Tragic Hero, the Heroine's love interest and Child of the Sun, sacrifices his life to bring a dream into fruition, the eternal sleep that has eluded the Arch Villain for a millenium. Beasts of lore heed their calling, finally free from their Utopian prison, returning to the Farplane, the planet's core its origin. Baralai climbs atop the highest tree in the Macalania Woods, exposed to the evening chill and haunting requiem, joining the audience of Spira in witnessing the long-awaited climax, The Fall of Sin.

_Pray to Yu Yevon ~ Dream, Fayth ~ Forever and ever ~ Grant us prosperity_

The curtains fall as the zenith soon becomes dark, and the onlookers anticipate a new dawn, the first Golden Age to last a lifetime.


	19. Tryst

Whee! These updates are picking up. :D This one is fan-service more than anything else. After all, its Yuna and Baralai wearing casual clothes stylish enough for a date. :p

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**XIX.**

**Tryst**

_{What is love without taking risks, mute expression}_

The two stare at each other, tongue-tied and nervous on their first date.

His long bangs are swept away from his face, fastened by sepia sunglasses, minus his trademark headband. An unzipped, mahogony parka, skin-tight white undershirt, and navy blue slacks replace his usual formal attire; an attractive ensemble revealing a muscled physique which pleases and surprises Yuna, for his flamboyant robes left much for the imagination. Gippal must have ransacked his wardrobe (Yevon bless him), not unlike a certain cousin of hers.

To accommodate the warm day, a white blouse clings to her torso, folded collar low enough to flaunt her silver pendant, orchid scarf hanging loose on her hips, held in place by a twisted knot, complementing the frilly, rose-colored petticoat breezing her knees. Flowery hairclips restrain wild tresses on both temples, accentuating the cute crinkles in her wavering eyes. The slight heel of her calfskin sandal clicks the pavement due to ferocious butterflies fluttering in her stomach.

Baralai clears his throat, this action a guise to his awkward laugh, and graciously offers his arm with a bashful smile. She takes it, equally as bashful, linking hands with him. They both take the lead side by side as they disappear in the crowded marketplace of the Moonflow.


	20. History

Ha ha ha, I'm on a roll! XD In the middle of the night, the morning encroaching upon my nocturnal schedule. This vignette was particularly tricky, but I'm satisfied how it turned out. :3

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**XX.**

**History**

_{Thrive on mistakes, weaknesses exist to serve maturity}_

Her Guardians stand at attention, fulfilling the utmost honor– sentries to Yuna, Spira's beloved slayer of Sin, and more importantly her fragility and heartbroken spirit as she boldly faces the crowd occupying the entire Luca stadium.

"Everyone has lost something precious. Everyone here has lost homes, dreams, and friends. Everybody, now, Sin is finally dead. Now, Spira is ours again. Working together, we can make new homes for ourselves. And new dreams. Although I know the journey will be hard, we have lots of time. Together, we will rebuild Spira. The road is ahead of us, so let's start out today."

Rikku, Al Bhed Princess; Lulu, Mistress of Black Magic; Wakka, World Champion of Blitzball; Kimahri, Hornless Lion of the Mountain; only two individuals are absent, their permanent lack of presence jarring in her new life, a life she wasn't supposed to claim back. Auron, Living Legend, and–

"The people and the friends that we have lost" –_and the dreams that have faded_– "Never forget them."

Tidus, Dream Zanarkand Ace.

* * *

Two years later, the Eternal Calm has been preserved. Same place, same time of day, the crowds are cheering, the confetti is flying, a melting pot of sleeping hostilities, the public display of camaraderie between rivaling faction leaders a cause for curiosity.

"Once my friends and I dreamed of flying. We would sail a ship with me as its captain. In time, I became that captain. I found a new ship with new friends. My ship was the Youth League." – "Others chose a different captain. Their boat was New Yevon." – "You know, I realize I'm like a lot of you people. We want a captain and we want a ship to ride, but more important than that, really, we all want to ride together."

Baralai braves the spotlight once again, to speak words of hope and wisdom to the people, this very same ideal the hardest thing he'll ever have to accept. For a better tomorrow, a brighter future, a future without hate and vengeance.

"There's some things you can't do alone. But they become easy with friends beside you."

Nooj, role model, father figure, and war veteran. Gippal, best friend, soul sibling, and clown extraordinaire. Individuals Baralai wouldn't mind governing the world together. And let's not forget– "We all owe thanks to a very special lady."

Yuna, Peacemaker of the Century.


	21. Familiarity

Last one for the morning, I swear! :D This one sprang out of nowhere, pestering me to let it be depicted. You gotta wonder, is this a reunion of Yuna and Baralai? :p Context is up to imagination, but it does have its relevance.

* * *

**XXI.**

**Familiarity**

_{Déjà vu's bitter goodbye, Destiny is right around the corner}_

Yuna dashes the bustling streets of Luca, panting, bumping into unsuspecting people and apologizing profusely, searching fervently in the vicinity for any sign of Tidus. She had seen him in the crowd while delivering her speech, his dirty blonde hair, sun-kissed skin, a white hoodie, short-sleeved shirt, and trousers– He_ was there. _He_ was in the audience!_

The docks are relatively empty; children play tag and race each other, waving the strings of their balloons, shrieking in laughter, and passengers are trickling onboard their ships, preparing for embarkment. As the moving crowd disperses, so does her energy and wishful thinking. Yuna stops to catch her breath, ashamed of her silly, desparate delusions, disheartened by her hapless efforts. _Tidus can't be gone, just like that. He can't be. Not after all that he's done for Spira... not after all that has happened between us..._

"Let's go, Mother. The boat is about to leave." Her ears perk at the familiar, nostalgic term of endearment, a name Yuna neglected to use since her mother's passing, feeling envy bubble in her heart towards someone she doesn't even know. Lifting her crestfallen eyes, Yuna spots a teenaged boy escort his parent in direction to their vessel. Tilt of the face, a distant smile– _it's him!– _she gasps in divine elation and sprints to touch him, grab his shoulder, jerk him around to acknowledge her. Consternation and disappointment drowns her ecstatic voice– _this boy is not Tidus– _as incredible dejection suffocates her heart.

Yellow sunlight gleams from his platinum hair, highlighting it gold in contrast to Tidus's bleached style; how his long bangs frame his olive face, the skin too dark to be tan. His eyes don't hold the ocean, but the liquid color of burnt wood. His shirt is not bright and yellow, but a moody blend of colors, such as violet, teal, orange, and indigo, resembling Bevelle's fashion for adolescents. Shorts are a light grey, not of black leather and uneven length. He is not a complete stranger, however, a friend of an enemy at worst, her guardian angel at best.

A young man in service to Seymour Guado (until the point of his untimely death), who offered her counsel and companionship in that short, dismal period of her captivity at the hands of her villainous husband. He infiltrated the wedding as a servant, blessed Yuna with her confiscated staff, and prayed for her success and ultimate escape. Another individual who made a huge impact, albeit inconspicuous, on Spira's fate.

"Hello, Lady Yuna. We meet again."


	22. Blessings

This was inspired by your lovely two-shot, Written in the Stars, Sorrow, a piece of fanfic, if you may see the similarities, of your otherworldly gift to me. X3 However, it's my version of Braska crossing paths with Baralai in regards to Yuna. :3 The ending was spontaneous, I have to admit.

* * *

**XXII.**

**Blessings**

_{Embrace the stars and kiss the moon, God bless love}_

A cloaked figure treads the interchanging Farplane scenery, pleated burgundy and navy blue robes fluttering in the tropical breeze and pungent perfume, footsteps clacking on cold cobblestone and creaking wood, feet shuffling across melting snow and drying grass, hands sliding pass a weeping willow's tendrils and hieroglyphic walls, eyes overlooking the superficial seasons and superfluous connections, until he reaches the springtime of youth at last.

The silver lining is obscured; Braska glides through, exiting the haven for the departed and into a man's reminiscing unconsciousness. A preteen boy throws rocks at the ocean, misshapen stone frogs hopping on liquid glass, leaving grumpy splashes to ripple the mirror's sky. Stalactite sadness, the living soul is suffering in solo solitude, separated from his favorite playmate, and soon collapses from the stress. Once the ripples settle, a silhouette of a growing woman smiles in the lucidity. _Yuna..._

Spurred by their shared attachment, Braska approaches the crying acolyte, stooping to pull the boy on his feet, paternal concern cradling his lanky arms. The High Summoner coaxes eye contact, calm curiosity smoothing the moist storm on the boy's cherubic visage. "L-Lord Braska..."

"You will return to someone very precious to us, very, very soon. Take care of her for me, and I guarantee she'll take care of you. Cease dreaming on the brink of suicide, child. Please, don't make this your time."

Warm light filters through Baralai's fluttering eyes, forcing him to rise from the Temple's hearth and face the statue who watched over him in his sleep. Freshly lit torches and cloy incense permeates the dark dawn as priests and nuns alike greet the Praetor, grooming the temple for a most momentous day. Holy matrimony between the High Summoner and Praetor of New Yevon.


	23. Virginity

Yipee! :D I went to a shooting range for the first time yesterday! With daddy dearest and my brother. It's extremely fun, and super awesome! X3 This encompasses my thoughts, feelings, and imaginations about using a gun. :3

* * *

**XXIII.**

**Virginity**

_{First shoot, then ask the questions, you only have one chance}_

Baralai can feel his eardrums bleed as guerilla gunshots and pointless explosions drill in the distance. Hands tense and pitifully soft on the handle, heart heavy with hesitation and holy irony, mind swamped in morbid admonishments; his religious tolerance is put to the test. His ability to wield a rifle– _machina of all things!_– with heartless proficiency hinges on his resolve. All it requires is costly sacrifice.

A human hand accompanied by its machina-prosthetic counterpart takes responsibility to teach an innocent soldier how to get his hands dirty. Baralai glances at his teammate, wary and pleading, exercising patience long enough for this warmonger to grant brisk guidance. To hold the bottom of the barrel using a strong grip, right hand firm on the bulky frame to control kick-back, finger poised on the semi-automatic trigger, _never point the gun at something it can hurt_, and keep both eyes, not one, trained on the aligned groove.

"Take aim. Shoot."

Baralai murdered his childhood that day, drill-shot bullets having dissolved through hot dunes and white noise.

* * *

Yuna can feel her nerves skyrocket as gunpowder residue and gaseous heat assuages her trembling hands. Arms sore and grudgingly straight, heart light with excitement and true curiosity, soul suffering in lovesick misgivings; her emotions are riding on a roller-coaster. Her potential in wielding a pistol– _my Al Bhed birthright– _with naïve distrust relies on her desire. All it requires is simple sacrifice.

Fingerless gloves cradle her fists followed by a broad naked torso leaning on her backside, struggling to instruct his cousin in fluent English, urging her with flustered fingers and a heavy accent on handling her new weapon of choice. Twin Tiny Bees a gift to embellish their blood bond as family. To push her right fist out and pull her left hand in, cock the hammer of the gun, calculate the visual math on the hole-littered cardboard target, _don't rush to shoot fast, practice makes perfect, _and keep two eyes wide open and focused on the prize.

"Aim. Dyga ouin desa… yht cruud. Shoot."

Yuna hunted her new lease on life that day, trigger-happy bullets in pursuit of fading dreams and a lost love.


	24. Exotic

Sorrow, you'll get mixed feelings when reading this. Hints of Paralai... :p Lulu and Paine are fascinating characters, no? I just wish the creators would've delved into their history more. A connection possibly exists, the women look like each other. Aunt and niece anyone? Or cousins? :p

* * *

**XXIV.**

**Exotic**

_{Red, the color of passion, blood, a setting sun}_

Hair short and a masculine silver, square-shaped face drawn, almond red eyes glaring, pink glossed mouth pursed, black leather ensemble and high-heeled boots daring_–_ this attractive woman is dangerous to his smitten heart. Why else would Baralai experience palpitations whenever the recorder is within mute proximity, or a momentary fever befalls him in the heat of battle whenever she watches him, _the team_, with sphere in hand? Blunt words are lethal bullets to his feelings, brutal honesty a dark dictator to his thoughts, deceitful timidity a tough girl to his empathy.

"That's not gonna work on me, buster. Gippal already beat you to it." And his first attempt in wooing a female; the biggest mistake of his love life. When Baralai frowns, speaking up in his own defense and proving a point, saying no more afterwards, Paine smirks, impressed by his testicular strength. "Well, since it's you... I'll make an exception. Here. Clean off the sand on this one. It's obscuring the lens."

Baralai smiles, pleased to be considered useful and important to someone who once disregarded his existence.

* * *

Hair a plum brown, long braids dangling from a complex bun, eyeliner highlighting twin rubies, mouth a scowling orchid, outlandish low-cut fur-lined black dress, interlaced belts hung below the waist_–_ this scary woman is appealing to her curious mind. Why else would Yuna witness aggressive boys flee whenever in range of the black mage's death glare, or feral fiends be quelled by the force of her overprotective wrath and elemental fury? Stern attitude a strong Guardian to her safety, short fuse an intelligent doubt to her devotion, taciturn love a mother hen to her compassion.

"Are you sure you want to do this, Yuna? There is no turning back." And her confession to the sexy, big sister type; suicide mission of a lifetime. When Yuna smiles, affirming her selfless decision and swearing an oath, pleading without stop, Lulu frowns, saddened by her reckless resolve. "I do hope you aren't expecting me not to join you. We'll set out the first morning of your new summon."

Yuna cries, disappointed she can do nothing more for her friends after she will have to throw her life away.**  
**


	25. Lifeline

_Xepher_ and _Joker __(originally Miku Hatsune)_ by Tatsh helped me concentrate in accomplishing this vignette. :p Yuna's half went from the Mt. Gagazet and Gullwing support to Tidus being there for her at Sin attack. The change never made me happier. XD

* * *

**XXV.**

**Lifeline**

_{Live in shadow, follow the light, sin sleeps in our souls}_

Opposite forces collide, an explosion, a flying Praetor, a fiery crimson flower unfolding within the phantasmal darkness and a possessed man under the mercy of inertia. He skids, his feet skipping step by step until he teeters over the edge. Panic creases his face, reaching out to his Al Bhed counterpart, a desperate plight piercing through the obscure insanity in his dark brown eyes.

Gippal's mind keeps telling him, _'this is not Baralai– this is not Baralai– he is only trying to fool you– who cares if he dies' _–and that's when he snaps.

"Baralai!" In no time at all, Gippal abandons the bazooka responsible for harming his friend and lunges with all his might to close the distance. Digging his heels deep in dry soil, frantic fingers snatch at outstretched ones, grip strong and bone-cracking, straining his muscles to heave–

_'Man, is it just me, or did B'man gain a few pounds?'_

–vowing never to let go.

* * *

Pandemonium ensues, an ambush by sea, tumbling passengers, a liquid turquoise blanket rippling below the temperamental atmosphere and a fledgling Summoner under the influence of gravity. She trips, flying off her feet before a helping hand breaks her fall. Fright flees on sight, smiling serious at her savior, a chaste trust stressing the sharp purity in her bright blue-green eyes.

Tidus's heart keeps beating nonstop, _'don't let go, Yuna– don't let go– you don't have to worry– I'll save you' _–and that's when the ship lurches.

Without warning, Yuna flings to the other side and Tidus squeezes one hand on the rope support tighter, pulling with his entire strength to stay onboard. Planting his soles fast on wet wood, a slippery hand clutches at a moist one, hold firm and skin-numbing, laboring his arm to lift–

_'Damn, I can't get a break, why won't this nightmare end?'_

–wishing forever to wake up.**  
**


	26. Passion

This won't get out of my head! AAAAAAHHH~! LOL, anyway! I vented. In writing. :3 Now I can move on with my life. Sorrow, these were bits I didn't use in our, erm, you-know-what... .::hums innocently::.

* * *

**XXVI.**

**Passion**

_{Love-making is like drawing breath, you need it to survive}_

Limbs twist and tangle in the soon-to-be stained bed sheet, chests heaving and hugging each other's sweaty skin, arousal pulsing in sync to their staccato heartbeats. Hot and heavy gasps permeates the locked bed chamber as the mattress groans and sinks to their consistent moaning and rocking. Incense candles emit the cloy aroma of rosemary, soothing to the risque nerves, bathing the couple in its shady, dim glow, embers flickering at the weak waves of gravity rippling the humid air.

Too soon, Baralai withdraws his fingers and Yuna wonders, collapsing back into the bed, disoriented and upset, at the hasty, slight noises after his abrupt stop— metal clinking, leather unwinding, cloth rustling— and restless hands lift her limp legs, adjusting them in such a way where she can't comprehend what he's trying to do.

Swelled muscle tears through virgin skin without warning. _S__ting._ Slight, prickly, and quite annoying. Yuna cringes at the minuscule pain, surprised at the soft shock, sensing hot liquid on her thigh, and immediately becomes engulfed in piercing pleasure, overwhelmed by the force of his thrusts, sudden, deep, fast-paced, sporadic— all sense of gentility abandoned, desperate for fulfillment, release, and oddly, Yuna doesn't dislike it.

Her vision is white-hot, blurry with lust-induced tears as hands stroke his torso in random spasms. White light fizzles on her ruddy fingertips without conscious thought, creating and stealing scratch marks on his skin, sensing the negative energy seep pass his flesh, invisible static on flushed skin, recoiling at her healing touch. Eyes are closed to relish the perverse sensations in darkness, lips parted, breaths mingling, tongues meeting halfway, teasing at first, slow and soft, mindless as their continuous thrusts, until picking up the pace.

Legs clamp his waist, impatient of his climax while dissatisfaction throbs inside wet walls, muscles enduring delicious repetition. Ardor so intense, lungs burn at the lack of oxygen, whimpers resonating in echoes of frustration. Anxiety spurns his release, self-resentment, shame, worry, guilt, a myriad of emotions churning in his psyche, never permanently quelled and Baralai begins to tire– of pushing, of pulling, of hoping and being disappointed, losing himself within a smooth and monotonous rhythm of moist, tight, delightful friction.

Flames shrivel and swell in slower transitions until he pauses to rest and catch his breath, tightening his arms around her slender figure, her swollen, soft breasts pillowing his head. Yuna moderates her harsh breathing with great difficulty, disgruntled and confused by his pause, yet compassion overrides her haywire hormones once teardrops spill on her chest.

He still blames himself for existing, for being weak, for keeping secrets and creating more, for hurting people, too many people, for acting the puppet and nearly causing _another apocalypse; _Baralai blames himself the most, more than anyone dares to admit. Baralai is still not used to it, he will never get used to it, the ridiculous sensitivity to the slightest touch, how forgiveness embraces him in the form of arms, how kindness cradles his head as hands, and love kisses his scalp like lips. Tender, loving care a woman should have for her man. Treatment Baralai believes he doesn't deserve.

Heartbeats reverberate beneath his cheek, reminding him of his own— _I'm still human, I'm still alive, she saved me, and she is mine—_ the last shred of humanity Baralai has left.


	27. Banner

I apologize for the long wait. :3 Here is vignette numbah 27, which correlates with number 17.

* * *

**XXVII.**

**Banner**

_{Paint a myth using every color of the rainbow}_

Stripped to the waist, Baralai shrugs on his pastel tunic and ties the orange sash around the waistband of his pants, adjusting the low neckline. He folds his previous clothes neatly and places them beside his makeshift bed, before lifting his green coat with great care and slipping his arms slowly into the heavy sleeves. Heavy with the weight of newfound maturity. Heavy with the burden of responsibility on still-young shoulders. Fastening a red chord through the gold rings of his high collar, he smoothes his hands over orange patterns and Yevon symbols to wipe away the wrinkles in the fine fabric. Baralai soon finishes by adorning a clean blue headband, standing straight and tall, mentally preparing himself. What Baralai wears now for the ceremony represents the very fabric of his ideals, his absolute devotion to Yu Yevon.

Green symbolizes resurrection and immortality, the salvaging of the soul and the preservation of its memory. It represents Fate, both positive and negative, and contains the powerful energies of Nature. Hope, longevity, and vitality. Red associates with all the basic needs of survival, all those things that give us security, our willpower to persevere in a spiral of death. A morbid symbol of courage and sacrifice, of strong emotions, of love, hate, guilt, and sin alike, and ultimate mourning. Blue allows repentance, for the person to become a compass for wayward ghosts, to remind them of their lost lives, to guide them back 'home'. Orange raises the spirits and invigorates the observers, symbolizing energy and fire, how anyone and everyone each hold a candle to make a difference in life, so long as you have the strength to believe.

"This is what it means to be a Summoner." He whispers to the person recording this private ritual, answering Paine's ignorance, her questions concerning her skepticism towards Yevon, of its "fanatic" followers and "suicidal" Summoners.

Somber-faced and willing to face the consequences of others, the acolyte exits the tent with an aching heart, ready to perform the Sending.


	28. Wish

EternuS by _Sanxion7_ inspired this one (and yes, it's a DDR song, :P). I borrowed the lyrics to serve as dialogue between Tidus and Auron, Baralai and Nooj. It was so profound, this scene burst out of my imagination. :D

* * *

**XXVIII.**

**Wish**

_{The mind's eye, silly dreams and hallucinations}_

"Can I ask you something?"

The day is hot, they've been walking all day down Mi'ihen Highroad, and Tidus finds another question to entertain himself, this time directed towards Auron, delighted to be reunited once again.

* * *

"If you could have one dream... What would it be?"

Nooj stares, captivated by his innocence, the modest smile and empathic eyes; how quiet the other two fell, surprisingly timid to acknowledge the candid, endearing boy. Baralai shrugs, embarrassed. The Al Bhed grins, a friendly punch to bruise his arm, and Paine chuckles, shoving his shoulder. Baralai senses the man's alienation, the only one tight-lipped and stubborn to open up.

* * *

Auron scoffs, unperturbed by this silly inquiry. The blonde pouts, kicking dust to coat his dark pants, much to Wakka's horror, Lulu's annoyance, and Yuna's amusement. Kimahri snatches his hood, yanking it, his method in reprimanding the teen.

* * *

Baralai can easily imagine Nooj becoming a Crusader for a selfless cause, to save lives by his own hands. Yet to be robbed of the very faithful instruments of his true strength, handicapped, his dream incomplete. Crackling cinders glow in the reflection of his glasses, words hollow.

* * *

"To fly away..." Tense silence. Intense curiosity. "On the wings of time..." The warrior halts, sunglasses glaring as harsh as the sun, searching for something in the distance, the sky, the world beyond. Yuna can sense his worn heart bleed into an ocean so blue, as if calling out to his loved ones, as if heartbroken to be apart from them. "And then I can be with everyone..."

* * *

What Baralai would give to rewind the past and rewrite the future, abuse his limitations in exchange for others' happiness, fighting, smiling, sleeping until the sun finally rises.

* * *

The Summoner dreams of shooting stars raining down on a broken Zanarkand.


	29. Idol

Who here loves Kimahri? :P We gotta share the love and spread it far and wide. :D

* * *

**XXIX.**

**Idol**

_{Servants of the mountain, white skies}_

"Long live Kimahri! Long live Kimahri!"

Stone-faced. Stone-hearted. Still as a statue.

Ronso young and old and in their prime, and an Al Bhed adolescent cheer the Elder's name. Yuna watches the celebration beside Paine, contemplating, heart grieving for not only her first love, but her constant companion; his presence she took for granted– former Guardian, now a leader unable to leave the mountains.

"'Better than looking back on things lost,' he said..."


	30. Chase

Point of No Return by _Immediate Music_ inspired me this time. :3 Yuna chased Tidus, only to find Baralai.

* * *

**XXX.**

**Chase**

_{Point of no return, save a life, live free or die hard}_

Two years, a free Spira. Summoners are aimless. Innocents are no longer homeless. Wanderlust sweeps the land. Dreams decline, promises fulfill, and goals realize. Truths rob the hopeful, lies die by the dozens, friendships rebuild cities, loves conceive children. Life moves on, death stays for life.

Two years the Eternal Calm lasts; two minutes and forty-one seconds for it to fall. Two years Yuna thinks about _him_; two minutes and forty-one seconds Yuna holds her breath. Two minutes and forty-one seconds every time she cleaves demon hearts with silver bullets, every time a part of herself dies all over again. Two minutes and forty-one seconds Yuna clears another nautical mile, she crosses another bridge, she bridges another gap, she plays another tune, she dodges another bullet. Two minutes and forty-one seconds Yuna runs to close the distance, yet it feels like two years.

Time passes differently in the Farplane. In the Farplane, a friend resides, a friend kept prisoner. What's more important, saving a life not yet lost or finding the truth behind death? Two minutes and forty-one seconds music echoes throughout oblivion, fingers pounding away at the keys, hearts pounding away in panic. Two minutes and forty-one seconds Yuna makes a decision.

Two minutes and forty-one seconds teamwork topples a weapon of mass destruction. Two minutes and forty-one seconds lovesick fools battle to the death. Two minutes and forty-one seconds star-crossed lovers are united after a millennium of bloodshed and cold air. Two years Yuna chases Tidus into darkness. Two minutes and forty-one seconds Yuna frees Baralai.

Out of the shadows, into the light.


	31. Hypocrite

We all know how much of a happy hypocrite Baralai can be, but how many of us fans can actually decode what makes him tick? :P

* * *

**XXXI.**

**Hypocrite**

_{Evil has many forms, many faces, as does kindness}_

"_A girly man like that doesn't stand a chance without his escort."_

Handsome politician by trade; a full-time silver-tongue. "_Careful. He's much stronger than he looks." _An ex-soldier who's not afraid to kill.

Hands meant to hold pens and important papers can break bones and brandish guns. Eyes meant to charm friends and disarm strangers can freeze bodies and stop hearts. Words meant to exude confidence and emphasize humility can weave perilous spells and swear impossible pledges. _"You need not interfere. Leave Vegnagun to me." _Cold-hearted, calculated, and compassionate.

_"What are you planning to do?" _

Baralai fights the Gullwings to protect them, to prevent Yuna from meeting her Maker. _"The only thing I can do..." _


	32. Blood

Blood can constitute to a lot of things, literally, symbolically, and forebodingly. I'm pleased with how this turned out (after a week of suffering under a moody... mood). :P

* * *

**XXXII. **

**Blood**

_{We all want love, we all want honor, pay the price}_

"Nice footwork out there, ballerina."

Baralai murmurs his thanks, still in that pensive daze of his since yesterday. The early bird sits atop a hill near their campsite, watching sand whirlwinds mimic his earlier performance. Gippal approaches, stretching his arms, quelling goosebumps and grogginess from his limbs.

"So that's what you Yevonites do, huh? Dance for the rain to fall?" No response. "Yep. Good stuff. Dancing for the dead, making people happy…" Gippal rambles in thoughtful fragments, and gives up soon after, yet too anxious of the silence to remain quiet for long.

He seats himself on the sand and plops his head on Baralai's lap, gazing up at the starry sky and missing sun, not yet bright and hot and life-threatening. Awkward to be in intimate proximity of a Yevonite, and uncertain whether or not he can trust his teammate enough to share insecurity— _oh, what the heck._ "…but I don't see no Yevonite dance for dead Al Bhed."

His breath catches in his throat when solid warmth touches his face, paternal care stroking his cheek, all the while peering at his blurry solemn smile. Baralai doesn't bother to hide the truth, sugarcoat details, or defend Spira's racial, abusive actions. Only offers what Gippal wants to hear.

"I know."

* * *

"You gotta meet my pops one of these days, Yunie."

Yuna neglects to correct her, having already met him, mind stuck between counting the days and her romantic, scarce trysts with Tidus, watching snowflakes dance inside tumultuous drafts. Rikku hops on one foot and then the other, generating body heat through spontaneous energy.

"He's your uncle, you know, and he _won't stop_ _talking_ about you! Even though you've never met him, he loves you to death. You're practically family!" Rikku babbles with loud gestures, and continues without pause, her lungs refusing to back down against need for oxygen.

She twirls with arms outstretched and inhales the frosty mist, grabbing at low clouds and a waning moon, still very slim and dim and gravity-defying. Reluctant to break routine from providing positivity, and in turmoil of exposing blatant feelings already expressed— _oh, why can't you see? _"And he wishes you happiness in the bottom of his heart."

She swallows a lump in her throat when cold sympathy wraps her fingers, maternal love squeezing her hand, all the while glaring sleet tears at a makeshift grave. Yuna doesn't bother to consider an alternative, nor stops to think about her feelings. Only repeats what Rikku cannot bear.

"I know."


	33. Light

This piece morphed into quite a doozy. :P Me, the writer, inebriated by a weird headache. Mojave by _Corner Stone Cues _inspired this one. :3

* * *

**XXXIII.**

**Light**

_{Starlight, star bright, love shines the brightest}_

'_It's so dark…'_

Falling up, walking on water, swimming in space, dreaming awake, Baralai doesn't even have control over his own body. Rainbow fireflies float in front of glazed eyelids, bleak light dissolving once it reaches his soul, his emotions otherwise sapped by spiritual leeches in sheep's clothing. Muscles move without monitor, thoughts speak against truth, voices empower another's will.

Baralai and this monstrosity of a djinni cannot be anymore similar. Justice; murder in disguise. Hate; love by betrayal. Closure; road to Hell paved with good intentions. Yet, an epiphany quells his reason for vengeance, '_Nooj… wasn't Nooj,' _but not his, _'His name...? Shuyin... yes. Indeed, it is Shuyin.' _Black emotions are set aflame once again with ire like oil to a single flare of fire, this time swelling in veins symbolic of his archaic enemy, their modern leader.

"Can you hear me?"

An unfamiliar voice— '_his voice?'_— attracts that of another, "Yes,"— '_my voice?'_– one possessing saving grace, an effeminate force. Feelings pour into Baralai's submissive heart, a cavity yet to be touched until invaded by a foreign, pleasant sensation. Positivity churning inside chaotic energy, _'What is this emotion?'_

"Ah, you _can _hear me." Relief. Jubilance. _Love_.

Disbelief. Impatience. _Hope_. "I can't see you. Where are you?" '_Who is this I feel so strongly for?'_

"Right here!" Anticipation. Surprise. _Light_.

'…_Lenne, no, Yuna…'_


	34. Impression

I've implied Braska and Baralai's resemblance, and explored a new angle on the couple. :3 Hopefully I will uncover more.

* * *

**XXXIV.**

**Impression**

_{Never judge a book by its cover, seeing is believing}_

Yuna races against time to save a friend.

Her memories with Baralai are few—

Polite smile; _"Greetings."_ Solemn empathy; _"The world is changing..."_ Elegant fondness; _"Have this as a token of my friendship." _

—yet intimate knowledge surpasses her expectations.

In the Crimson Spheres, Yuna sees a different side of him, a dynamic young man, a team player, a very sensitive soul. Baralai makes jokes when he's about to die. Baralai proves to be open-minded to change and steadfast in his broken beliefs. Baralai doesn't hesitate to take prudent risks, to seek support in corruption to fulfill his own agendas. Beyond the heartfelt salute, the laughter, the blood-curdling screams, Yuna sees a human being, not a shepherd who sows the seeds of Yevon.

Humble, compassionate, dignified, a man like her father. _"Forgive me." _

Remorse gleamed on the machina pistol then, and Yuna had beat Baralai to the trigger. Never meant to kill, only protect, and she wonders if that ever re-opened the wound of his betrayal.

_'I will follow my heart, father. Please, watch over me.' _


	35. Discordance

Shuyin and Baralai's master/slave relationship has always intrigued me, especially since it's not Shuyin's fault that he's evil. He's not even the real thing, just some ghost. Death does not exist in Spira, I tell you. :P

* * *

**XXXV.**

**Discordance**

_{See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil}_

"Sol. _Mi*! _Re*..."

Baralai stalks the mystical savanna, swinging his staff like a long, dangerous baton, conducting chaos and lunacy, singing destruction and laughing at it. Ensemble of pyre flies swirl and sway, rapt and confused, resonating notes in synchronicity to a passive harp. Hostile, futile resistance fumes inside its prison of a woodwind resonator. Repercussions from the past strike the chords in his heart, violin strings scraping emotions until insanity screeches within shaken thoughts, brass begging for mercy, whispering to his solo puppeteer, the deaf concertmaster.

Pleas die fast following the fleeting tune of a helpless flute, and hope chimes soft and resilient in the face of horror.

"Do*... Ti... La... Sol... Fa... Mi... Fa, _Sol, _**_Do_**..."


	36. Impetus

Contrary to belief, Tidus does not resemble Lord Zaon in the least, save for the sun symbolism and their Guardian roles with their respective Summoners. Baralai and Auron, however, bear striking similarities with him. If only Baralai was one of Yuna's Guardian's in FFX...

* * *

**XXXVI.**

**Impetus**

_{Warrior of antiquity, love lives on} _

_"I must protect my beloved... I must protect... I... must..."_

A shadow of his former glory, armor golden in its splendor, and Cadabolg's shade in hand, a paragon of living nightmares. Legend speaks of Lord Zaon's passion surpassing that of the sun; now a demon whispers in his right ear, using selfless wiles to fester the flames of loyalty and resolve. Obsession in full bloom, and an undying love.

Warrior monks flock to surround the apparition, the last two squads, the fate of the previous thirteen unknown and lost under the mercy of winding, fiend-infested Undergrounds. Baralai bares his fangs and prepares to pounce, undaunted by Lord Zaon's enlightened form.

"I have people to protect as well. Please, forgive me, Lord Zaon."

Sparks ignite when they cross steel for claw.


	37. Turmoil

Baralai is my obsessive muse; I want to be able to connect him with anyone and everyone, especially with atypical characters by the stretch of the imagination. :P

* * *

**XXXVII.**

**Turmoil**

_{Bygones be bygones, flirt with death}_

Baralai's grip on the pistol slackens. "Lady Yunalesca…?"

First Summoner of the millennium, daughter of Yu Yevon; her soul has taken refuge below Bevelle, alongside her Guardian. The image of an amorous embrace ripples, eyes glower, bare feet tread on cold air, and numerous pyreflies highlight bloodlust. Lord Zaon disappears, dismissed by his lady; warrior monks charge, petrified on sight; survivors waver, slashed to shreds. Baralai parries the Basilisk's snapping pincers, he avoids meeting its stony glare, and he traps its elongated neck inside a steel ring, pulling his staff to subdue the thrashing beast.

Cataracts of lethargic warmth suddenly flood his body, disorienting him, putting warriors to sleep, streaming colors before his very eyes, vision blurry behind snippets of memories. Baralai glares, gritting his teeth, sluggish and defenseless. Forsaking the nightmare, Yunalesca advances, unhindered by bullets and flames. Arms outstretch, transparent hands touch his face, _"You are a true warrior, with a brave heart... like my Lord Zaon..." _and an ancient chill cripples his willpower.

Foreign sounds stifle his heartbeats, illusions deluge his rational thoughts, and Baralai collapses on his knees, clasping his staff to his chest, desperate. Pity embraces him, a Summoner's graces.

_"Poor creature… let me be your liberator…"_

"Lord Baralai! Baralai, sir! Resist that fiend's seduction!"

"Please, do not… I… I will… stand my ground… and be strong…"

On the brink of death, the face of his savior emerges in his mind's eye. _'Lady Yuna…'_

A straggling pyrefly glows— _"I will stand my ground and be strong! I don't know when it will be, but someday I will conquer it. And I will do it without false hopes."_

—and Yunalesca lets him go.


	38. Pity

Song of the morning: Until We Bleed by _Kleerup ft. Lykke Li_. Why does Nooj have to be such a party-pooper? :P Baralai is trying so hard to unite the team, and he scoffs at it.

* * *

**XXXVIII.**

**Pity**

_{Love until we bleed, walk in another's shoes}_

"It's my life to throw away."

Baralai cannot believe what he just heard. What human being doesn't appreciate the value of their own life? Astonished, he gazes anew at his esteemed comrade, disappointed in his lackluster spirit, pitying his aimless soul.

_Ex-Crusader. The Undying. Deathseeker. _What Paine said, it can't be true.

Unlike Baralai and Gippal calling for him to come back, Paine says nothing more, having said what she wanted to say, and possibly not everything her heart truly felt. Nooj pushes his teammates away by distance, leaving them hopeless and speechless in the dust. Their eyes sting in the blistering, sand-ridden winds, watching his back disappear behind shrapnel, dunes, and gunfire. _'I am his friend, even though he hasn't acknowledged me as such, and it's my job to reach out to him and show him the right path. If not me, who will?'_

In the end, it's his choice whether or not he wants to walk towards the light.


	39. Heat

Second song of the morning: Miracle by _Cascada_. Ahh, prude people can be kinky when they want to be. :P

* * *

**XXXIX.**

**Heat**

_{Attraction, chemistry, tender love and care}_

Yuna steals glances while he's not looking, fascinated by his studious silence. Sitting cross-legged on warm grass and reading an unraveled scroll on his lap, Baralai's eyes squint beneath the sunlight, fixated on the complicated script. _'How can he not feel the heat? He's literally baking himself!'_

Baralai tears his attention away at the curious sound of her giggles, amused and enamored, teasing her with a smile. Momentary eye contact; Yuna stammers, self-conscious, averting her eyes, and he frowns, confused. When returning to read his scroll does Yuna partake to staring again. Eye candy basks in the tropical elements, exercising mind and patience for future Flare incantation spells.

She had asked to join him in excuse to be near him, performing mock meditation and admiring his handsome looks, pleased of his choice to vacation in Besaid. Yet Yuna desires more than simply pining from afar. She wants to hear his voice, to relish his scent, to touch him, to create more memories together, yet she lacks the nerve to ask outright.

"…would you like to read with me?" His invitation scatters her thoughts, lingering in the air, compelling her to take a seat beside him. Baralai grabs her hand, startling her, coaxing her fingers to trace the ink brushwork, stroke for precise stroke. "Heat reminds me of many things. The flames of a desert sun, of a blistering wind, of the torches lit between human beings during a night of marital love-making." Feeling his hand on her cheek, Yuna gasps, blushing, overwhelmed by her intimate reminisces and imaginations. "Why do you hesitate to meet my eye?"

Tongue-tied, she shakes her head. "I-I don't know..." The subtle intensity of his gaze overwhelms her, makes her feel euphoric at the special treatment. He leans in close, moving his hand to brush her bangs aside, whispering over the soft breeze.

"How will we communicate when we need not words nor physical expressions?"

They spend the afternoon sun-baking, sharing hot kisses, and mapping their mutual lust on each other's body.


	40. Assimilation

"Clocks (Coldplay) - Trance Remix" by _Rahilium _inspired me to finish this vignette. :3 Enjoys.

* * *

**XL.**

**Assimilation**

_{Osmosis of the senses, star-crossed feelings, hitsuzen}_

_'Whose feelings are these?' _

Nostalgia numbs her limbs, intimacy seduces her mind, guilt anchors her heart. A bittersweet embrace, until held at arm's length. Electric blue eyes, sun-kissed hair, a tender smile; a stranger wearing the same face as her true love. A foreign woman implores forgiveness in one lingering gaze; a lovelorn frown, earth brown hair, misty hazel irises. Sadness speaks through false telekinesis, yearning navigates his motions, empathy amplifies his submission.

_'Lenne's? Shuyin's?' _

Baralai holds her close again and Yuna complies, eye contact broken. _'Mine?' _

This man feels different, but she ignores it, discomfort drowning in unstable emotions and subtle possession. This woman looks familiar, and he remembers, logic fleeting beyond layers of disillusioned vigilance. Lonesome chimes and ancient whispers resonate from pyreflies that prowl and haunt the glen. One moment, for a millennium's worth of waiting.

Lost love sings, as they forget themselves in this music of the amnesiacs.


	41. Longevity

My frequent trips to Japantown inspired this light-hearted scene. *sigh* Ah, the smell of food is in the air... must be love... XD

* * *

**XLI.**

**Longevity**

_{Oodles of fun, the way to a man's heart}_

Slurrrp. Slurrrp. Splatter, splatter.

A noodle flickers out of Yuna's mouth, and Baralai wipes his face with a lopsided smile. Seated on the rustic carpet inside her house, they share a large bowl of udon ramen together prepared by Wakka himself. Tense generosity suspected to be an excuse to supervise the Praetor's actions.

He also provided chopsticks, a foreign utensil that confounds the silverware-bred Baralai. Fingers fumble with the sticks, hustling for a good grip, efforts restless and focus futile. Yuna guides his hand in the motions, and she giggles every time the thick noodles slip through his hold. She grabs his thumb and pointer finger, positioning them properly.

"Here, you set this one like this... no, no... You messed it up again... hey, hold still... Am I going to have to feed you?"

Baralai huffs, half frustrated and half amused. "Might as well. I'm ashamed to admit I can't do this well..."

"Okay, if you insist... Open wide for the airship!" Yuna teases, tucking a handkerchief into his collar like a bib. He chuckles, embarrassed and bashful.

"I don't recall asking to be treated like a baby."

Yuna laughs harder. "But... but, you're acting like one."

Baralai manages to learn at one point or another, yet continues to act inept, fond of the feel of her hands holding his own as he enjoys his lady fussing over him like a newlywed wife.


	42. Scar

Sleepy. Hungry. Mellow. Content. There's no other way to describe my mood right now. :P

* * *

**XLII.**

**Scar**

_{Fact from fiction, legends and realities and lies}_

Baralai spies on a traveling Summoner and her motley company atop a cliff outside Macalania Woods.

His eyes sweep across kilometers of barren green and torn land through vintage binoculars, spotting a man-made landmark beyond long-winded hills. A huge rift, Spira's battle scar upon Gandof's victory, the second High Summoner to earn his title posthumous. There once lived a man who brought down his iron fist, sealing Qactuars in stone beneath thunderous skies as punishment for torturing passers-by with their callous mischief.

Defeating Sin was not the only thing Summoners could do to help Spira, so says ancient history. _"Spira is a land of suffering and sorrow caught in a spiral of death_,_"_ his mentor told him time and time again. Scars have stories nobody wants to tell, and death tends to be the common cure.

_"Don't give up!"_ So why does his heart shout otherwise?


	43. Trial

An "only dialogue" prompt on livejournal inspired this piece. I thought it would be intriguing to craft a vignette in this fashion where narrative details are obscure and up to interpretation. :3 Seymour and Baralai have a clandestine conversation following Yuna's trial.

* * *

**XLIII.**

**Trial**

_{Fly on the wall, educate a series of guesses}_

"Lord Seymour, this cannot be right. We all know Lady Yuna has done nothing wrong."

"What nonsense are you spouting? Are you sure you are feeling alright, Baralai?"

"Please, do not feign ignorance, milord. Yevon is an illusion. Sin never truly dies. Summoners... they have sacrificed their lives for temporary Calms. I share Lady Yuna's viewpoints. She is only thinking of an alternative and that– that is considered a crime? She is your wife, and you're willing to accept her execution? You're touched in the head, milord. A little too much."

"I admire your honesty, but there are certain places where honesty is not necessary. Yuna has committed a crime, a murder of a Maester."

"E-Excuse my impertinence... However, Maester Seymour and Maester Mika are... Unsent."

"You've heard and seen everything. I don't see the need to repeat myself."

"..."

"There is a slim possibility she may survive the Via Purifico. If it comes to that, we will have to execute her by our own hands. That includes Kinoc. He stands guard at the exit alongside elite warrior monks."

"..."

"I will turn a blind eye. Do as you wish."

"..."

"If I were you, I'd leave before it is too late."


	44. Error

I don't know about any of you guys, but I truly believe Baralai murdered Kinoc. Fanon, yes, but canon implies it. :P

* * *

**XLIV.**

**Error**

_{Shooting in the dark, surpass expectations}_

There he is, Maester Kinoc, giving commands to fortify the path and let none escape.

He plans to kill Yuna and her Guardians. _'I have to stop him.'_

The warrior monks, their deaths are painless. Baralai ends their lives quickly, but that man, "How dare you!" he wants to save him for last. Baralai desires to see him _hurt,_ and savor his suffering.

With a single shot, he disarms him and the rifle clatters to the ground. Kinoc cradles his wrist, angered by the intrusion. He suddenly sways on his feet, overwhelmed by this invisible pressure, and Baralai pours more magic into the spell to force him onto his knees. Pushing gravity from all sides, relentless pain assaults his internal organs.

Baralai will not stop, no matter how much Kinoc screams, no matter how much it exhausts him, until he knows he cannot move, until he knows he cannot breathe, until he knows he cannot _survive_. Baralai will crush everything for what he is worth. He is worth _nothing_, and he will become nothing in death.

_'Nothing is going to stop me from fulfilling this revenge.'_


	45. Litany

Yay! I haven't written one for a while. A childhood snippet. :P It explores Baralai's potential of a Summoner.

* * *

**XLV.**

**Litany**

_{A mother's love outweighs the universe}_

Baralai hops on snow, his strenuous footprints marking the memory, dashing down the slope until leather soles slide on frozen water. Frost and dead wind numbs his dimpled cheeks as he spreads his arms out wide, one foot uplifted, suspended in a daydream, gliding across the Macalania Lake on imaginary wings. Arms flail, legs wobble, and Baralai falls on his knees. Mesmerized by the adrenaline rush, he stands once again and begins to dance.

"Mother! Mother! Look at me!" Laughter echoes; Baralai sashays to conceal his fatal slips, spinning on agile feet.

He stretches his arms to the sky and grasps at snowflakes, singing the Hymn of the Fayth, slowing his speed, curious to mimic his mother's special dance steps. Calming his excitement, curling his arms in a loose embrace, greeting his cold surroundings with open arms, his eyes droop with cold-hearted tenderness. Body rapt, mind lucid, heart clear– this immature rendition warrants pyreflies to emerge from beneath his feet. Energy rests dormant and trapped within ruins submerged under floating water, and a faraway female soprano voice joins his whimsical lyrics.

"Ieyui... Nobomeno... Renmiri... Yojuyogo..."

"Baralai! Please! Stop dancing!" His mother shrieks, horrified of the implications. Sprinting to her bewildered child, Etoinette embraces Baralai, sobbing, squeezing him tight and desperate. "Please..."


	46. Character

Yay! Beclem! :D Who here likes him? _owlmoose's_ humane and honorable characterization of him in "Aftermath" opened my eyes to his personality. :3

* * *

**XLVI.**

**Character **

_{Times have changed, forgive and forget} _

Straight ahead he sees familiar taillights; a sea wave ripples in the breeze and Yu Yevon's green banner sweeps the earth. Palm upturned, the man receives his lady's grace and they walk hand-in-hand inside the lion's den, armed with instruments of death.

Wrapping a towel around his naked shoulders, Beclem wipes the sweat of recent exercise from his hot face, and turns to exit the village. He sighs, stretching his limbs, walking the beaten path towards forestry and easy slopes to relieve the pleasant burn in his muscles. The hardened ex-Crusader had seen the High Summoner and Praetor approach Besaid temple not ten minutes ago, pausing to behold its lackluster brilliance and discuss plans of purging the Cloisters. Supposedly, they conspire to stifle random fiend outbreaks for good.

He had seen Yuna gesture her Tiny Bee gun, right hand holstering the second, smile absentminded and awaiting his polite opinion. He can imagine Baralai left room for compromise, forthcoming enough to accept her suggestion, exposing his own pistol and re-loading the clip with rune-laden lead. Their open-minded, easy-going manner in handling what Yevonites used to deem blasphemous disgusts Beclem.

_'Hypocrites, the whole lot of them.'_


	47. Test

Seymour is one sick, twisted person. XP One can imagine how the Ronso genocide went down...

* * *

**XLVII.**

**Test**

_{Play mind games and kill in cold blood}_

Before Baralai can bow in farewell, before he can depart for Bevelle, "There is something I must show you," Seymour clasps his wrist to stop him. His mission to pursue Yuna and her Guardians as far as the entrance to Mt. Gagazet is complete. What task awaits him in the sacred land of snow and righteous trial?

"Remember this, Baralai. What I do, I do to enlighten you."

Baralai prays. He prays to die. He prays to live blind, to live deaf, forever mute. Carnage paints the mountain in red, composes the orchestra of whimsical manslaughter. Bile burns in his tight throat. Pupils dilate, tears dribble, horror-struck. Adrenaline leeches his sanity, drawing strength simply to stand, forcing him to watch senseless, feral violence until catatonia breaches every corner of resistance.

"What is trust? Weakness. Never make the mistake of trusting me again."

_'Why dye my heart black when you intend to destroy the world?'_


	48. Bond

Yay! I've always wanted to write this, the wedding segment! :D Still more to come; after all, there are holes need filling. :P

* * *

**XLVIII.**

**Bond**

_{Hell and matrimony, through sickness and in health, Fate}_

"Will you be my Guardian?" Yuna requests on their way, arm-in-arm, to the Palace of St. Bevelle. "When I somehow escape and reunite with my friends–."

"No." Her name-mysterious companion masquerades as a groomsman; a ceremonial blue helmet and white veil conceals the upper half of his face, yet his feet tread unhindered by limited sight. "The pilgrimage means everything to you, and the first thing I will do as your Guardian is to take that away from you. I can't do that, and I don't have the strength to watch you persevere, only to martyr yourself to Sin. I'm sorry."

Her hand on his arm, it clenches tight, "It is for the good of Spira," and she confesses, as if her duty warrants a reason.

"And I care about you, more than the people of Spira themselves." She keeps quiet, resigning from this argument. He halts in his stride, relaying his stubborn concern through pseudo eye contact, causing her to pause also. Yuna likewise glares in liquid rage and grief, shoulders touching, postures tense with rigid dignity. His unreasonable selfishness and unnecessary kindness makes her feel guilty, and that is a hindrance to her goal.

They soon resume their deliberate walk, her wedding ceremony with Doomsday their destination. Yuna dares not to look back once she lets go of his arm, because from this point on– everything rides on her resolve.

* * *

Seymour Guado, her malevolent groom, stands across from her, anticipation oppressing her willpower. Grand Maester Yo Mika stands present before them as the priest presiding over their holy union, sunken eyes vigilant and glassy. Her Guardians watch, skirmish-worn and helpless under the dangerous supervision of Maester Kinoc and his platoon of alert warrior monks. Clammy palms grip her bare shoulders a moment later, sharp nails pinching into her skin unlike those of tenderness not too long ago.

Yuna imagines _him_ and his gentle eyes and caring words, instead of Seymour's smug glare and cold smile. _"You won't be alone out there,"_ he had told her. He trusts her, he has faith in her, he believes Yuna will win, despite the dismal odds. He didn't know her, he had no reason to help, he was– still is– with Seymour, but he is on _her_ side.

Yuna prays for Lady Luck to bless her side, as this obligatory kiss seals her demise._  
_


	49. Doubt

The two moments are not so much parallel as they are embodying the same emotion. :3

* * *

**XLIX.**

**Doubt**

_{To dream, or not to dream, don't look back}_

"Everyone has lost something precious."

Yuna delivers the Eternal Calm in one speech, her parting words in disguise as Spira's final High Summoner.

Standing in the crowd, hidden among the masses, Baralai gazes upon his holy savior. Freedom makes him a lost man now; without Yevon to hide behind, people have no reason to be kind anymore. Infantile independence eradicates traditional security, and hope pacifies his turmoil, paving the way for character to strive.

"The people and the friends that we have lost..." Her pause speaks volumes, and empathy compels him to reach out to her. "Never forget them."

_'Maybe it's better this way...'_

_

* * *

_

"It's better this way."

Yuna closes her eyes to will the illusion away, to pretend she can, no, _will_ live without him.

_'I know... you were with me the whole time. I kept thinking you might be, kept hoping... But, you know, I'm not worried anymore. You will always have a place__ in my heart. We'll always be connected.' _

Waiting in the dark, listening for his whistle, Yuna sees her hero emerge in her mind's eye. Sadness recreates the beloved memory; with the future to look forward to, a miracle holds no water in reality. Delirious loyalty yields timid resilience, and anticipation of a new dawn enlightens her, instilling an inevitable sense of renewal.

"I love you." And Yuna walks away, smiling, fortitude strong in her eyes.


	50. Love

This was initially a gift vignette for _Sirea the Beautiful Disaster_ to commemorate a most blissful event. :3

* * *

**L. **

**Love**

_{Tours de Force, take a leap of faith}_

Yuna watches him pray. His proud height kneels near the maroon hearth, broad shoulders hunched, head bowed, and smile solemn and humble. Praying hands peek behind baggy cuffs. Yevon script embellish his colorful robes, twin "G" insignias emblazoned over his bosoms; heart of the warrior monk, his childhood dream. One long strip of silver cloth, the backbone of his fractured faith. Platinum tresses signify physical youth, mental maturity, and mysterious emotions.

Watching him despair over the loss of her father, yet appreciate his short-lived presence moves her heart. She asks for his hand and vows her eternal love. "Will you marry me?"

"Yes. I would be honored."


	51. Violence

Let's start the countdown again for another 50 drabbles! Oh yeah! :P

* * *

**LI.**

**Violence**

_{Murder and massacre, seize the bloody day}_

A cavern awash with nightmares, a swarm of malignant pyre flies, of souls that leech off of people's memories and clings on to them; the Den of Woe. Stench of corpses both fresh and rotten permeates the musty air. Ear-splitting screams of pain and agony and despair soon ensue. Soldiers who have gone insane without reason begin to sing in chorus a morbid melody of death, and Nooj, Gippal, and Baralai are no different. They play along to the chords of murder and insanity–

"STOP!"

–until Paine saves them from themselves, from each other, from a lingering, malignant spirit that refuses to forget.

They exit the cave, none the wiser of future consequences.


	52. Cycle

Sleeping Sun by _Nightwish_ inspired the completion of this vignette, where I intended to re-inspire Sorrow's fire to finish MoP (Memories or Promises?). This scenario actually alludes to a future chapter of hers... :P

* * *

**LII.**

**Cycle**

_{Circle of life, to dream, or not to dream, lost vigil}_

Baralai dreams of sand and palm trees, of waterfalls and miniature rainbows, of machina ruins and sun-kissed greenery. Valefor scales the skies, protecting an idyllic paradise, this island home to a mortal goddess. Deep, dangerous waters play with hopeful sportsmen. Families coexist in peaceful repetition, where violence disappears, and people pass on the baton of happiness within future generations. Children build their whole lives on chastity, until they bleed. Men challenge egos, until they bleed. Women conceive children, until they bleed. Death does not reach life, until they bleed. Spiral.

Baralai opens his eyes, and reality banishes sleep-induced imaginations.

Tingling in his feet compels him to stand before his balcony. Lovelorn eyes miss the last sunlight on the horizon, spying hibiscus flowers flutter in the distance and long twin rose petals dance around each other. Recognition spikes his panic and the Praetor makes haste.

Words echo the memory. "If you jump, you'll die… Lady Yuna!"

Ledge after ledge he descends, racing against time to reach the highest spire's base.

"_Just believe." _

"I can't… not this time…"

_"I can fly."_

"I know. I know you can… but, please… not yet!"

Never again will Baralai look away. He will not wait and deliberate what-ifs. Not anymore.

She shall finish her dance. She shall bid her goodbyes. She shall dive into transcendent freedom. She shall leave the living world and her loved ones behind. _'I will prevent that. Tonight is not your time. I _will _save you!'_

Baralai prays to the sky and sees a falling angel. With all his might, he beckons with open arms and casts a mental incantation to snag her in gravitational energy, holding her afloat, easing her into slumber with a Sleep spell. Once he lowered her to solid ground, the invisible safety net dissipates and Baralai kneels beside her, touching her chilled cheek.

No one will know Baralai carried her back inside, where antiquity still reigns in a modern world and promises sanctuary.


	53. Secret

Childhood vignettie! Whee! :3

* * *

**LIII.**

**Secret**

_{There is a fine line between ignorance and innocence}_

"Yuna. I'd like you to study this alphabet. Can you do this for me?"

Yuna nods, beaming, holding her mother's memento close to her heart, and Braska departs for his daily meditation. Surveying the temple, she approaches Yunalesca's statue and discovers a boy her age has stolen her favorite spot. He sits cross-legged and straight, eyes trained on the script, face so pretty and serious she blushes. Yuna traces the crisscrossing lines of her mother's native language, murmuring the phonetic letters and spelling out a happy memory, before scavenging the courage to sit beside him.

He spares a glance, catching the strange symbols faster than Yuna can conceal them out of shame. "Hello. Er, can I see?" Curiosity guides his boldness to pull the tablet onto his lap, disregarding her timid fussing. "Can you read this? Truly? Will you teach me?" Yuna stares, uncertain. Baralai leans close and whispers as a priest walks by. "It's the Al Bhed alphabet, right? I tried to read it in secret, but Lord Zuke found out and burned the book Father Braska gave me."

Tiny hands wring on her lap, twisting her skirt, and Yuna dares to share something forbidden. "...please don't tell anyone. I don't want someone to burn it..."

Praying in Yevon, he smiles. "Cross my heart and hope to die."


	54. Gene

I explore a stubborn Yevon & Yunalesca/Baralai ancestor-descendant theory that just _won't die_. XD Can you not see the subtle resemblance from the nature of their powers and unique manner of combat?

* * *

**LIV. **

**Gene**

_{Insanity nurtures a curse to survive throughout generations}_

Jecht senses it.

With the way that kid rips apart space, manipulates gravity to force-coalesce pyreflies into organic metal reminiscent of armor fashioned for Sin, and the fact they tried to intercept him once– Jecht realizes long-ago loyalty must have possessed this prodigal sage somewhere down the road.

Braska sees it. Auron suspects it.

Liquid ice flares bright in brown eyes. Platinum hair whips harsh against hostile energies. Absorbs energy beyond body, straight from the soul. Ice magic mimics Stop spell mechanics. Resemblance like only one other; proud and powerful, dignified and pompous, most of all hapless and desperate.

"Why are you trying to stop me? I want to save her! Vegnagun is my last hope!"

Braska falters in the face of familiar evil. Auron stands helpless before an invisible force. Jecht knows if they don't save him now– not an ancient entity, but a human being–

Baralai will become a zombie, just like her.


	55. Measure

I pretty much summarized Baralai's boss battle and his generic line of abilities. Maybe I should depict his many ridiculous immunities next. XD

* * *

**LV. **

**Measure**

_{Push it to the limit, outrun stamina at triple power)_

Baralai moves while wasting little effort. Making random calculations where to strike next— Demi spells, Drill Shots, Looming Glaciers, Glints— changing his pattern of attack within a single moment to psyche them out every time.

His strength leaves much to be desired, yet his dexterity keeps them on their toes. Baralai out-dances Songstress Yuna and silences her battle cry; Baralai outwits Thief Rikku and steals her breath away; Baralai outmatches Alchemist Paine and freezes her feet cold; Baralai outstrips these girls in skill, yet desk work has dulled his reflexes. The Gullwings will surely outlast him as he performs a multitude of attacks towards a futile conclusion.

The Praetor can only fight for so long.


	56. Regret

I consider this an addendum to my one-shot _Second Chances_. My Yunalai stories tend to be interconnected some way or another. :3

* * *

**LVI. **

**Regret**

_{Second chances, alone at Valentine's Day)_

_Tweeeee~ _

"What are you doing, Lady Yuna?"

Yuna gasps and twirls to face her intruder. The Praetor approaches, arms folded at his back, treading with a languid step in his walk. She smiles, self-conscious. "Good morning, sleepy-head."

Baralai attempts to conceal his frown behind his collar, as much as his shame. "...it is the late afternoon. No one thought to wake me up."

"You needed your rest. You deserve it." Yuna faces the horizon again as rushing wind carries the last of her tears. Baralai recognizes acceptance, of bidding adieu to a long-lost friend. "After what you've been through."

Footsteps weigh on crimson-polished metal, until they stop on the opposite side. Baralai touches the outstretched wing, curiosity a guise to his discomfort. The likeness has been sculpted feather by feather. He remembers a time where Summoners used to fly. Heartbreak has clipped the mockingbirds' freedom, yet this nightingale taught herself how to fly.

It has always been his dream. _Their_ dream.

The Navigator among the Engineer, the Pilot, and the Captain.

Baralai used to be his own protection, but now he has lost direction. The clouds above move closer, looking so dissatisfied, and the ground below grew colder as the heartless wind kept blowing. He finally has the chance to fly in the wake of a nightmare, only to fall when reality comes crashing back down.


	57. Rivalry

Supporting characters always intrigue me. Beclem does not get enough love. Baralai deserves more back story. Why not throw those two in a scene together and see what sparks explode? XD

* * *

**LVII. **

**Rivalry**

_{Expect the unexpected, friends of friends wage war)_

Baralai and Beclem take on the Gauntlet Challenge and tackle fiends together on their way to the finish line, a race to see who's faster, better, stronger. Neck to neck, they execute calculated sprints and eliminate fiends back-to-back, defending the other while one pauses to reload bullets. Trigger-happy shots clear the path, and the anguished cries of felled fiends resound in the distance.

Beclem stops at the foot of the sloping hill, adjusting the protective strap of his rifle to aim, eagle-gold eyes glaring at the machina Defender. Baralai leaps forth, balancing his feet on its bulky shoulders, digging the barrel of his pistol into some unseen nook. Energy ignites, rune glowing white-hot, and magic-imbued bullets burst inside the massive machina, mini explosions melting its interior. Metal arms lunge and swing at the assassin, jostling Baralai to slip around its Haymaker and duck beneath the brunt of Beclem's volley shots. Teamwork topples its obsolete might.

For the first time, seeing a game-face so ferocious and focused, Beclem does not acknowledge the Praetor as a woman with faux testicles. Baralai blows the smoke billowing from his pistol, and holsters it within the folds of his robe, allowing the brunette soldier to power-walk pass him and claim a new record.

Beclem stands straight, arrogant still, yet impressed, shouldering his weapon. "Nooj was right. You are not half bad." When the Praetor approaches with the sly smile of a cocky, calm Coeurl, he wants to retract that moment of absent criticism.

"Thank you. Your performance was excellent. I congratulate your victory." One bow disarms Beclem, reassuring the man with his vulnerable neck. Baralai snatches his hand in one swift motion, kissing it. Beclem feels his face warm and jerks his hand away. His 'flattering' gesture of mockery angers him.

"Want a rematch? Your score falls too short compared to the High Summoner."

"Of course. Rest assured I will not hold back this time."


	58. Question

The stupid question that everyone knows the answer to, but the new guy on the block wants to test his waters. :P But you gotta wonder where would the love "start" between these two? That pivotal moment.

* * *

**LVIII. **

**Question**

_{Click, puzzle pieces, mind over matter)_

"I am glad you came to visit again. Thank you."

"Of course. Anytime."

Paine and Rikku wait, watching them mingle while withholding witty remarks. They don't understand what those two leave unspoken in each farewell, ulterior motives wrapped in polite invitations. "Say, Lady Yuna..." Baralai stalls, distracted. The girls stop snickering and Yuna plays stupid.

"Yes?"

"Does anyone lay claim to your heart?"


	59. Laughter

This Baralai/Paine friendship-y scene mimics the Tidus/Yuna one in Luca. I wanted to write Yuna's parallel scene, but... I'm too lazy to write it. Some other time. XD This one has been sitting in the corner, collecting dust for over a year. Along with the several vignettes posted before it.

* * *

**LIX. **

**Laughter**

_{Hugs and kisses are the cure to frustration and rejection)_

"Nooj didn't mean to say that." The recorder refuses to speak, refuses to acknowledge him, preferring to sulk at the lazy sand whirlwinds. Hands entwined at his back, Baralai purses his mouth, pensive, before breaking out into an amiable smile.

"I've learned to smile in the face of adversity." Embarrassed of the positive glow in his sincere eyes, Paine glances away, scowling, crossing her arms, yet this does not deter him. "C'mon. Let's give a shout out to Nooj. Here. I'll give a demonstration." He faces the empty, vast desert, taking a deep breath, inhaling, exhaling and inhaling again, giggling because of nerves, until he cups his mouth to project his voice–

"NOOJ, YOU IDIOT!"

Paine stares, wide-eyed and amazed, ghost of a smile and eager glee, and copies his silly stance. Standing side by side, shouting together, "NOOJ, YOU IDIOT!" once, twice, going on thrice, until they succumb to laughter. Baralai soon regains his breath and confesses an innocent, solemn sentiment.

"I don't want our time to be taken for granted."


	60. Connection

I'm seriously thinking I should return to long-winded multi-chap fics. I may have lost the appetite for it, but I_ so_ want to write a novel-worthy fic of Yunalai! DX

* * *

**LX. **

**Connection**

_{Her angel, his savior, sexual tension, hurt and comfort}_

The young Summoner has become a magnificent sight to behold. Pristine white wedding gown. Elegant swan feathers are sewn onto the flowing hem. Hair fastened in a small ponytail, not one strand out of place. Perfection. Misery in disguise.

Once the servants leave, Baralai turns to face his master's fiance. Heterochromia symbolizes what he would have once considered blasphemous, if he had not known better. Humanity shines in her eyes; before guarded to conceal her emotions now tear from dread. The gaudy flower bouquet quivers in her grasp.

Baralai stays silent, patient to hear her speak, _'I doubt anything I can say will make her feel better,'_ and fails to mask his surprise at her unusual choice of words. "Will you allow me... one moment of weakness?"

"Whatever milady wishes."

Yuna glares, tight-lipped, an emotional far cry for help, and she leaps to close the distance. Baffled beyond words her bold embrace, Baralai steadies them both, disregarding her cloy scent and tantalizing body heat. _'This is... not the way to think.'_

"I-I'm scared..."

Despite being trained to school her emotions for the sake of completing her pilgrimage, knowing she'd have to die to defeat Sin..._ 'Yuna is still a teenager, and I am not much older than her.' _Although taught laying hands on a wedded woman goes against proper code of conduct, he hesitates, until slipping his arms around her torso, squeezing her if only to quell her trembling.

"Seymour t-told me... _hic_... the Al Bhed Home had blown up. My Guardians– they were out there, trying to rescue me from the invasion. What if they didn't survive?"

"You don't know that for sure. Lord Seymour could have lied to manipulate you." Comfort comes as soft undertones from an unlikely enemy, an ally, a _friend_. Someone Yuna would feel proud and honored to have as a Guardian.

"I fear the worst for them. I-I don't know what to do!"

"You should worry, but you should also put faith in them. Even if it kills you."_ 'Hypocrite,'_ he scolds himself. Tilting her chin up, he notices her mascara streaming down her cheeks and forces a smile, using his sleeve to wipe the mess. Warm chiding lightens the tension. "See, now look what you've done. You ruined your make-up."

"I wish it was _you_ I had to marry."

Flattery flushes his face. "Then it wouldn't be a forced marriage. Whether or not your Guardians are alive matters not. What _we_ can do, however, makes all the difference. You must send Seymour, and I will help you."

"B-but... how will you give me my staff?"

"I don't know, yet." He breaks eye contact and his uncertainty festers her fears, until kind words seduce her into silence. "I will come up with something. Do not worry. I will be nearby. You won't be alone out there." Reassurance reminds Yuna of her duty. His warm hands on her bare shoulders also remind her they are alone, away from paranoid eyes of the Guado.

"I... won't...?"

"No."

Yuna stands calm and unfaltering under his tender gaze, unaware a smile lights up her face; the first ray of sunshine after a storm. Baralai smiles, too, quite pleased of himself.

"You look beautiful."


	61. Blacklist

Is it far-fetched to imagine Baralai had been present during and even partook of the Home invasion? What if Seymour entrusted B'man the task of retrieving Yuna? Hmm... :P

1) "Drop your weapons..."

2) "Never!"

3) "Everyone under! Everyone under!... Everyone under!..."

* * *

**LXI.**

**Blacklist**

_{Mission search and destroy, damsel in distress}_

"On my signal."

Guado mages salute with languid nods. Fiends are obedient and standing by. Baralai taps a ring on his forefinger, pearl marble shimmering, proffering protection in form of a spherical wall. Unleashing a flash of thunderbolt short-circuits the wires, jamming the machina. Baralai flinches when the door slides open.

Dozens of Al Bhed sharpshooters await as sentries surrounding three Summoners. Seconds later a trio of Aeons materialize by the beck and call of their owners. Ifrit roars, Ixion neighs, and Valefor croons, whose wings obscure the young lady in the kimono dress. Stepping inside, he approaches, heart pounding, pausing to extend his left hand for his target to take.

"I'm sorry, milady, but Lord Seymour requests to see you safe and sound. Come."

"Please inform him I decline." Upon her bold declaration, the blonde men and women take aim, flaunting sacrilege and promising harm in wordless warning. The man in teal robes clenches his staff, face calm in contradiction to his trembling hands. A Guardian flanks each side, one a toddler and the other a boy reaching his prime. The female Summoner glares daggers upon recognition while she strokes her canine beast, taming his impulse to pounce at bay.

"Tnub ouin faybuhc(1)... and no one will have to die."

"Rajan!"(2)

Rapid fire bullets ricochet, instilling temporary cracks in his barrier. Baralai pulls out a Gold Hourglass given to him by Seymour, reciting the activation spell, before planting it firm on metal ground.

Foreign energy delays incoming actions by simultaneous coercion and distortion of time perception. Aeons are immune, yet humans are rendered dumbfounded. Coherency has been disabled for sixty precious seconds, ticking one by one for every grain that dribbles to the bottom. Guado flood the chamber and wage battle against divine fury, martyrs for time while Baralai prepares his ultimate spell.

Magic accumulates in grave amount. Fingertips snap with a flourish. Darkness flares. Flesh suffers wicked frostbite, machina experiences swift corrosion, and eyes endure white-hot flashes to the psyche. Explosions erupt inside the chamber and black smoke permeates the spark-laden air. Baralai disorients victims near the brunt of his might and the majority of Guado exterminate survivors, banishing weakened Aeons and Al Bhed from the living realm.

He moves to retrieve Yuna, Summoners and Guardians alike stand up to defend their own, "Summon and I will spare no lives, including the child," and he torches their resistance to ashes. Semi-conscious and breathing slow, Yuna lies there, helpless as Baralai hitches her legs over one arm and holds her torso on the other, leaving blood, debris, and corpses in his wake as the intercom continues to blare...

_"Ajanouha ihtan! Ajanouha ihtan!... Ajanouha ihtan!..."_ (3)


	62. Hostility

Pairing Baralai/Yaibal proffered by _owlmoose_. I just couldn't resist anything under Baralai's name. XD This spontaneous confrontation happens during the first two years of the Eternal Calm; before Baralai becomes Praetor and Yuna a sphere hunter.

* * *

**LXII.**

**Hostility**

_{Youth versus Yevon, sparks fly, bullies are born}_

"Yevon scum!"

Shrill, reluctant, faltering - this insult only falls on distracted ears.

Baralai blinks, dubious, and stands from his praying position before Braska's statue. Boy no younger than fifteen fidgets under his inquisitive look and spats in defense to his accusatory silence. "W-What?"

"Pardon me, but... are you talking to me?"

"Y-Yeah! Who else wears the symbols of Yevon here?"

"Who are you, may I ask?"

"Yaibal! I came here first! These Besaid spheres are now property of the Youth League!"

Incoming attempts of a wannabe bully does not amuse him. Baralai sighs, crosses his arms, mock contemplation, tempted to pick on the Youth League's "new guy." Islander kids come running inside from the village, tripping over bare feet while playing tag.

Mental light switches on.

"Hello, children."

"Hi, Sir Priest~!"

"Hey! Don't ignore m–!"

"I need your help, everyone." Baralai kneels down to eye level and lures their gullible short attention span. "Listen to what I am about to tell you: this boy is true evil. He wants to steal High Summoner Yuna by tricking her to join the Youth League."

Chorus of angry shrieks resound. Yaibal pales and sputters and suffers rug burn when several children latch onto his limbs and tackle him down.

"What? That's not true! He lies! _He lies_~!"


	63. Conversation

Another "dialogue only" vignette. I wrote this scene intending to be the first chapter of a Post-FFX-2 roommates fic. This ain't the first time I posted leftovers from unfinished fics as vignettes! XD

* * *

**LXIII.**

**Conversation**

_{Salvage a fractured friendship, water under the bridge}_

"Make yourself at home, Lady Yuna."

"Thank you. I hope I'm not inconveniencing you..."

"Not at all. I am indebted to you in many ways. This is the least I can do. To be honest, I am a little excited. Grand my abode may be, it does feel quite lonely living by myself. It gladdens me to know I have company, however long you wish to stay."

"Well, I thought you needed a friend. I mean, it must be tough trying to disband New Yevon. Even with Gippal and Nooj's help, I can imagine you're struggling to convince the council..."

"Did Paine tell you?"

"Yes. She said, um, Nooj thinks you are being used by the older members because you promised to stand by them. I know it's not in my place to say anything, but, um..."

"Excuse me for interrupting, but I would prefer not to receive aid from you, milady, because it will arouse a broad range of mixed reactions if the High Summoner becomes involved. I simply ask you to avoid trifling with New Yevon politics."

"Oh. Um, I didn't plan on offering, but... okay. I'm just concerned, that's all."

"I appreciate the thought, however, I can handle this alone with Nooj and Gippal by my side."

"That, too, but I wasn't talking about New Yevon. Do you... feel alright? Sorry for being nosy. Paine mentioned you had symptoms and have trouble falling asleep–."

"I– I am doing better. You need not worry on my behalf. It flatters me you care, milady, and that is all I want. Payment for room and board is not necessary. Would you like my assistance to unpack?"


	64. Pride

Direct follow-up of vignette #63. Foreshadowing inspired by Parron's beginning scene from _Of Sun_.

* * *

**LXIV.**

**Pride**

_{A Preator plans to pull his proverbial empire at the roots}_

"No offense, milady," Baralai says, breaking the ice, turning his back on the woman who sympathizes with him most. "I want to accomplish this on my own."

Yuna never imagined him to voice such stern finality at a dire time of need and she missteps before spilling her stack of clothes. She stares, uncertain how to react. She heard the coldness in his tone right, the stiffness of his motions. Yuna clasps her hands, contemplating, eyes straying to a lonely banner of Yevon and frowns, resenting the mastermind behind his willpower.

"If you say so... But, Baralai, don't forget I am here."

Thus begins Baralai's battle to prove his independence.


End file.
